


The Courage of Stars

by KangarooPaws



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben Solo Deserved Better, F/M, Fix-It, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, World Between Worlds, canon compliant: tfa and tlj, canon divergent: tros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KangarooPaws/pseuds/KangarooPaws
Summary: Solan knew two things about his father. First, he was dead. Second, he was a good man.He had always expected the second was a lie, but never had any reason to doubt the first. His father was dead, he knew that. He had always known.But now...His eyes skim the pages one more time before he slams the old Jedi text shut.Now, he's not quite sure.-Or, a post-tros fix it with two key differences:1. leia isn't dead2. sometimes ben and rey didn't use the force bond to fight
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	The Courage of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fanfic since middle school and I swore I'd never do it again but then tros massacred our boy and this idea popped in my head so I decided to roll with it. Not quite sure what direction I'll take just yet or how frequent my updates will be, but lets hope for the best.
> 
> Also I don't know how to format on here to it might be fucked, apologies in advance.

He was born 238 days after his father died. 

This is the first thing Solan learns about his father- his death date. He remembers asking his mother, back when they lived on base, as he carefully traced his small, seven year old hands across the lines scratched into the wall. 

_“What are these lines for?”_

__

__

_She looked up from her work and simply stating, “I was counting.”_

_“Why’d you stop?” He asks, his hand reaching the end of the row._

_She shrugs, “It didn’t seem to matter much, once you were born.”_

His mother rarely spoke about anything that had happened before he was born. His grandmother would spend hours telling him stories of her childhood and of adventures with his grandfather and uncle, but he’d be lucky to get even a sentence out of his mother before she’d change the subject. 

_“Well, why’d you start then?” He asks, curiosity lighting up his eyes._

__

__

_She hesitates, looking up at him for a moment, eyes glancing over his young, hopeful face. She looks back down and states with a manufactured lightness, “It was just- it was after your father died.”_

He counts 238 marks on the wall.

He never thought he had a father. 

_“Are you dumb? Everyone has to have a dad.” Paige tells him when he brings it up one day._

__

__

_“Why?”_

_She crosses her arms, tilts her chin upwards defiantly, “I don’t know. You just do.”_

_“Where’s mine, then?”_

_“Maybe he’s dead. Like my aunt. That’s who I’m named after, you know.”_

_“Yeah, maybe.” He says._

But even then, he doesn’t quite believe her. If he had a father, Solan supposed, then he would be in the memorial hall. Solan and his mother would go to the ceremony every year, where she would stand in front of the crowd and proudly tell the world about what a great man he was. People would come to them after, apologizing for the loss but oh how lucky she was to have Solan and he looks just like his father and maybe one day he’ll be a hero too. He would smile like the other kids did, vowing to be just as brave, if not more so. 

But that never happened. He had only actually been in the memorial hall once, with his grandmother. And no one ever told him he looked like his father, only that he didn’t resemble his mother. 

They always said it more like a warning than a compliment anyway. 

He asks his grandmother about it one day, after a senator assumed he was his mother’s student. 

_“Do I look like my father?”_

_She looks up at him from her holopad, her expression unreadable. “What makes you ask?”_

_“I don’t think I’m much like my mother.”_

_“Don’t be silly, how you look means nothing. You are like your mother in all the ways that matter, Solan.”_

He thinks back to a couple months ago when he had crashed the speeder, despite his mother telling him multiple times not to use it. After watching the wreckage smoke for a minute, he had stumbled back home, disoriented and sporting a nasty gash across his forehead. His mother could have healed the wound instantly, but instead opted to allow his grandmother to patch it up by hand as she paced back and forth, lecturing him. 

_“If you had been going any faster, you could’ve died,” she said for what seemed like the hundredth time._

__

__

_He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”_

_She stopped her pacing to look at him, barely containing the anger simmering beneath her eyes. “Did you hear me? You could’ve died.”_

_He grips the sides of the counter until his knuckles turn white and wrenches his head out of his grandmother’s grasp to match her stare. “I said whatever.”_

_She stared at him, the room deadly silent. For a moment he thought she might yell (his mother never yells- not at him, at least). Instead, she shook her head one final time and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her._

_His grandmother, who had remained uncharacteristically silent for most of the argument, yanked his face back down towards her to continue cleaning the wound, holding back the words he could so clearly tell she wanted to say._

_“What?”_

__

__

_“You are just like your father, you know that?”_

_He knew what she was trying to do, to placate him with useless comparisons to a dead man. To give him a cautionary tale. Unfortunately for her, his interest in his father waned years earlier. “And you raised me, so who’s fault is that?”_

_He hissed as she applied disinfectant to the wound a little rougher than she needed to._

_“Foolish boy, just like your father.”_

He winces at the memory, wishing he would’ve been kinder to her then. 

She used to tell him he was like his mother in all the ways that mattered. He doesn’t know at what point she herself had stopped believing it. He wonders if she ever believed it. His family has a habit of lying, it would seem. 

The only other thing Solan was told about his father had come just weeks after he had asked about the marks on the wall. Every few months the Resistance hosted a fundraising gala and his mother was required to attend, no matter how much she hated them. This time was different though; Poe had asked her to bring Solan. 

_“The donors have been asking about him for years,” Poe says when she refused for the third time. “The future of the Jedi and all that.”_

__

__

_“The Jedi Order is over,” She replied. “He won’t be a Jedi.”_

_“Well,” Poe shrugged, “they don’t need to know that.”_

_“I am not going to parade my son around for your political game. I said no.”_

_Solan stood behind her, watching their interaction. In his young age, a gala had sounded fun, and he didn’t want his mother to get in trouble because of him._

_“But-”_

_“No.”_

_“I wanna go,” he interjected._

_She looked down at him, her expression softening. “No baby, you really don’t”_

_“But I do,” he insisted, tugging at her arm._

_Sol-”_

_“I really really want to go. Really really Mama.”_

_“You heard the kid,” Poe laughed, reaching out ruffling Solan’s dark hair. “Really really, Rey.”_

_“Absolutely not.”_

_“But,” he said, voice wavering. “I hate it when you leave me here with that stupid droid.”_

_“We don’t call things stupid, remember?” His mother replied, but even then he knew he had won. “You can come with,” she turned to look at Poe, “but we’re going home as soon as you change your mind.”_

So, he went. His grandmother forced him into some horrible old formalwear that she had found god knows where. It was itchy and a bit too short in the arms and legs and she had started at him with a melancholy amusement in her eyes as he complained about it. She wound the sides of his hair back in intricate braids, insisting it was necessary.

_“If you won’t get it trimmed, I’ve got to at least make you look a little respectable,” she said._

__

__

_“Mama says I don’t need to look respectable. She said I could show up in my play clothes for all she cares,” he replied, scratching at his shirt collar._

_“Your mother,” she turned him to face her, assessing the symmetry of the braids, “fares just as well at these events as you’d expect a Dewback to fare in a lake.”_

_“I’m gonna tell her you said that.”_

_“You most certainly will not, young man,” she replied, mock sternness quickly replaced by a smile. “My point is. Your mother does not know nearly as much about these types of things as I do.”_

It is only when he gets to the gala that he understands what his mother meant when she had said he wouldn’t like it. It is crowded, the food isn’t good, and there are no other children in sight. He had thought that maybe Poe would bring Paige, since he’s her stepfather, but he was wrong. So, he spends the evening staring at the ground as his mother grips his hand tightly, tugging him around the room. The donors, _rich bastards_ , his mother had told him (with a “don’t repeat that” as an afterthought), seem to not really care about what their money actually goes towards. They ask his mother two types of questions. The first is usually about him. His name, how old he is, all the basics. She never let him answer, instead telling them herself. Sometimes they pushed farther, asking if his father was attending the event as well. 

_“No,” she shook her head. “He passed in the war. Fighter pilot.”_

They didn’t ask more questions, after that. But Solan knew that wasn't right. All the pilots are in the memorial hall. His father was not. So, the first time she had said this, he had turned to her, ready to correct her. She must’ve just misspoke, right? Or did they make a mistake when they put the memorial together? Either way, he needed to correct it. As soon as the question formed on his lips, she squeezed his hand tightly- a little too tightly, in his opinion- and he knew to let the question fade, as he did most questions about his father. 

The second thing they asked her about was the end of the war. How she defeated Palpatine, usually. They reacted animatedly as his mother retold the story. All the Jedi standing behind her, the two lightsabers, the ships falling from the sky. Solan listened closely to every word, fascinated. 

The issue arises when she tells the story to a stern, slimy looking older man who reeks of inherited wealth and too much confidence.

_“Ah, very exciting. But, tell me, how did you possibly survive? I can imagine it takes quite a toll on a person, doing something like that.”_

__

__

_She gives the man a thin-lipped smile. “I was very lucky.”_

_“Indeed,” he responds. “I’ve been a little bit of a war historian lately. A hobby for my old age, it would seem. I read your statement-”_

_“My statement to the council?” She interjects, and for the first time Solan hears a hint of unease in her voice._

_“Yes, it’s public record now. The five year hold is over.”_

_“I know.” She gives a mechanical laugh, one that indicates she didn't know. “I just didn’t think anyone would bother to read it. I mean, it’s hardly interesting-”_

_“I found it very interesting, actually.” His gaze locks on Solan. “Especially your connection to Kylo Ren.”_

_She steps forward slightly, moving Solan so he was positioned more behind her than next to her._

_“Oh. It wasn’t as interesting as you might think-”_

_“Forgive me for doubting you, but I think it’s intriguing. Sharing a mind with a monster like that? I can’t imagine it was easy.”_

_“I’d really rather not get into it, not in front of…” She gestures down at him._

_“Come on now. A story like this might warrant a larger donation, you know.” The man winks at his mother._

_“I really- its just…” his mother stutters. He’s never seen her like this, never felt her be nervous before. Solan hates this man, he decides._

_“Bastard,” he says, barely above a whisper, but enough to catch the attention of both the man and his mother._

_“What was that?” The man says._

_“I said you’re a-”_

_His mother cuts him off. “The bathroom, he has to go to the bathroom. Excuse us.”_

She drags him away from the man and out onto a large empty balcony outside the ballroom. They stand in silence for a moment, looking at the forest below as she catches her breath, regaining the cool collectedness he had always known from her.

_“You really can’t say things like that, you’re lucky he didn’t hear you,” she says after a moment._

_“But you said it before. And it's true.”_

_She laughs, “I know. But sometimes we can’t say everything that’s true.”_

_“Is that why you lied about my father?” He asks, the question tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it._

_Immediately she drops to his level, kneeling down in front of him and frantically looking around, seeing if anyone else has stepped out onto the balcony._

_“If he was a pilot we’d get to go to the memorial ceremony and he’d be on the wall and Nan would’ve shown me and-”_

_“Shh,” his mother whispers putting a finger to his lips. “Be quiet, Sol.”_

_“Why?” He says, louder._

_“It’s impolite to talk loudly at a party.”_

_He frowns. The people inside had been talking quite loudly, he thought._

_“Sometimes people have to tell little lies. It doesn’t hurt anyone,” she explains._

_“But whyyy,” he whines, stomping his feet. He hated how she never gave him a clear answer._

_“Because…” she hesitates, choosing her next words carefully. “Because sometimes it’s better to lie to protect someone instead of tell the truth and hurt them.”_

_“That’s stupid.”_

_“I know.”_

_“This party is stupid.”_

_“I told you it would be.”_

So they leave, sneaking out the back door. She races him to the lake at the bottom of the hill, slowing down near the end to let him win, toppling over and exaggerating her breathing as if she had just run the longest race of her life. He knows she's only pretending, but he lets her- for her sake.

_“Nan will be upset that our clothes got dirty,” he remarks, looking at the dirt and grass stains along the bottom of her dress. She dismisses it easily._

_“It’ll be okay. Children your age need to have fun. That’s not something your Nan has really ever understood.”_

_“She says she knows more about these things than you do.”_

_His mother laughs. “I don’t doubt that.”_

Solan doesn’t quite remember what they talked about while they sat on the dock. He figures they talked about ships (they always talked about ships), or he had talked about Paige (he always talked about Paige). The only other thing he remembers for certain though, was when they were sitting in silence, listening to the sounds of the forest. He was in her lap, nearly asleep when she pulled him against her chest and leaned down close to his ear as if she didn’t even want the forest creatures to hear what she was going to say. 

_“Solan-”_

__

__

She never uses his full name.

_“Listen- no matter what people try to tell you, your family doesn’t matter. Blood means nothing. It says nothing about who you are or who you’ll be. You understand?”_

He nods, eyes half closed. 

_“But, I want you to- I need you to know,” she takes a breath, “In the end, underneath it all… your father was a good man.”_

He wondered if that was one of those lies you told to protect someone.

.

In fifteen years, his mother had only told him two things about his father. He was dead, and he was a good man. 

Solan had suspected that the latter was a lie, but he had never questioned the former. His father was dead, he knew that. 

_But now…_ he looks over the pages once more before slamming the Jedi text shut and stuffing it into his bag. 

Now, he’s not quite sure.


End file.
